


Poor Impulse Control

by deepsix



Category: Inception
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-10
Updated: 2011-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepsix/pseuds/deepsix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur spots Eames at the gym, and then they have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poor Impulse Control

Arthur met him at the gym.

That was his first mistake.

"Would you mind spotting me?" Eames asked. He'd finished a set of dead lifts while Arthur had waited, effectively speechless, unable to look away from the shifting tension of Eames' muscles.

That was the second. It couldn't lead anywhere good, not with him having to watch, bracketing Eames' body like that. They had work to do, and it didn't matter if Eames watched him back in the mirror, like he knew what Arthur was thinking -- if they were going to go there, there were better places and better times.

But it was hard to remember that when he could feel the heat of Eames' exertion, smell the clean tang of his sweat, and it wasn't as if Eames didn't know exactly what it did to him.

So the third mistake was really only a matter of time, and it started with him following Eames back into the locker room, through the rows of lockers, until Eames halted, pulled off his weight gloves, and tossed them on the bench.

"I don't want to talk about this job of yours," Eames said.

Without another word, Eames shoved him up against the lockers. The backs of Arthur's knees slammed into the low bench that lined the row of lockers, but Eames slid one arm around Arthur's waist, catching him, and everything seemed to go liquid, slow and hot. Arthur reached for him, and it didn't matter who else was in there, or that Eames was damp with sweat, droplets standing out on his skin, and Arthur was still fully dressed for work. It didn't matter, because the entire world had narrowed to the scent of Eames' skin, the feel of his muscles under Arthur's hands, the soft heat of Eames' mouth.

They kissed open-mouthed and wet, Eames pushing up against him immediately as he slid his tongue against Arthur's. Eames' body was still tense, his muscles still quivering with the exertion, and he was just radiating heat. Arthur couldn't get enough; he slid his hands up along Eames' arms, tracking through the drying sweat, then stroking down the muscles of Eames' back. He opened his legs so Eames could push between them, Eames' thighs thick and strong and his cock only half-hard, but it was already so good. Eames' body felt as good as it looked, all smooth, hard muscle, and Arthur couldn't wait to see what he would do.

They made out with Arthur pressed breathlessly still between Eames' body and the locker doors, dizzy with the heat of Eames' body, the curves of Eames' muscles under his hands. Eames dragged his hands down Arthur's back as they kissed, palming Arthur's ass, holding him in place with a thumb pressing at the small of Arthur's back. It got him so hot, and Arthur could hardly breathe for the endless desperation of kissing Eames, touching him, wanting him.

Eames pulled their mouths apart abruptly, then kissed Arthur's chin instead, his jaw, the hollow below his ear. Arthur wanted to tell him not to stop, to keep going, but in the pause he realized he didn't even know if they were alone.

Eames stopped him looking with a hand on the back of Arthur's neck, and the touch of Eames' lips to his earlobe was delicate and unexpected.

"We should take this somewhere else," Eames said.

"Or," said Arthur, "we could keep doing what we were doing."

He felt Eames' lips quirk where they were pressed against his ear. There was a smile in Eames' tone. "Where anyone could walk in?"

"It's a big locker room," said Arthur.

That was about all the convincing it took.

Eames pulled off his t-shirt and shorts, and tossed them on the bench beside Arthur. He hadn't been wearing any underwear after all, and the sight of him loose and naked and shameless went straight to Arthur's cock. His body was all thickly defined muscle, and he was hairy and golden and Arthur felt utterly strung out with his arousal. He'd always known that Eames was strong, but seeing it -- there was something about the cut of his hips, the broad slope of his shoulders, the thickness of his thighs.

He'd had hints of it, watching Eames lift. He'd seen the way the muscles in Eames' back stood out through the damp fabric of his t-shirt, the way his shorts slid over his thighs as he moved. And he'd watched Eames as he lifted, fixated by the tight flex of his shoulders, his biceps, his thighs, his ass -- god, just all of it. He hadn't been able to look away, but he hadn't been able to keep looking, either, too turned on by the shape of Eames' body through his clothes.

But Arthur's imagination had pretty much failed him for how hot Eames would be naked.

Eames took a step toward him, and cupped Arthur through his pants. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, and started fumbling with the buttons on his shirt when Eames pressed his thumb down along the seam of Arthur's fly.

"Do hurry up," Eames said.

Eames watched as he unbuttoned, Eames with a hand on his cock, stroking himself slow and unhurried. Arthur stared, caught by the play of tendons in Eames' forearm, the flex of his bicep, and Arthur wasn't even sure he wanted to take off his clothes for this, but he was already too hot with arousal, and the air in the locker room was thick with humidity. He shrugged out of his shirt and stepped out of his pants and underwear.

"Look at you," Eames said, but he didn't -- he leaned in to Arthur, and backed him up against the wall, braced one arm beside Arthur's head, and kissed him, hard and wet, all slick tongue and the rough heat of his body. The wall was cold against Arthur's back, but Eames' skin was overheated, and Arthur pushed their hips together, grinding his cock against the flat plane of Eames' stomach, looking for more friction.

He put his hands on Eames' ass, pulling them closer together, holding Eames there. It felt amazing, sinking his fingers into Eames' skin, and Eames' ass was firm and smooth, and Arthur wanted to touch him everywhere. Eames stopped him, though, curling his fingers around Arthur's wrist. He pulled Arthur's hand away and backed off, putting enough distance between them that he parted their mouths, spit-slick as they were.

"Not like that," Eames said, and guided Arthur's hand to his cock. "Like this."

Eames was hard, leaking, and the silk-smooth slide of his cock made Arthur prickle with want. Eames never let him go as Arthur stroked Eames' cock, but tightened his fingers around Arthur's wrist. It was almost painful, but the way Eames' breathing changed, the way Eames watched him, the way he leaned in to nip at Arthur's mouth without actually kissing him -- it was so hot, and Arthur reached up with his free hand to balance against Eames as he jerked him off.

Eames let him do it until Arthur could feel the tremors under Eames' skin, the shaking of his thighs where they pressed against Arthur's, the sharp tension in his abs. Arthur's chest felt tight just watching him, listening to Eames breathe in short startled gasps, and Arthur couldn't keep going when he wanted so much more first.

"Why are you stopping?" Eames asked.

"I don't want you to come just yet," said Arthur.

Eames huffed out a breathless laugh, his fingers tightening around Arthur's wrist. The very strength of them sent a coil of desire furling up Arthur's spine, and Arthur hooked one ankle around Eames' calf, rubbing against him. He still had Eames' cock in hand, even if he wasn't stroking it, and he could feel the weight of it and the rush of blood against his palm as Eames looked at him.

"Then when do you want me to come?" Eames asked, his breath coming out in stutters.

Arthur felt something tighten uncontrollably in his chest as he met Eames' eyes. "How about when you fuck me?" he said.

And he let Eames wrench him round, loving the forced twist of his muscles as Eames pulled at him. He had to brace a forearm against the lockers for balance, but then Eames slid an arm around Arthur's waist, his body slotting in hard and hot behind Arthur. He put his open mouth against Arthur's shoulder, his breath fanning damply over Arthur's skin, and it was a slick soft contrast to the hard line of his cock as he rubbed it against Arthur's ass.

Arthur angled his head back as their bodies moved together, and Eames reached up to kiss at his mouth, open and slick. It was hardly anything, but Eames did it again and again, his tongue sliding into Arthur's mouth as he rutted his bare cock against Arthur's ass.

Arthur arched into it, shoving his ass back against Eames, and pulled one knee up on the bench before him, looking for leverage as they moved. The shape of Eames' body behind him was phenomenal, and the smooth electric slide of his cock pulled at Arthur's nerves as they kissed. Arthur felt twisted up with tension, turned on and his cock aching.

"Come on," Arthur said, when he couldn't take it anymore. "Do you want to fuck or not?"

And Eames paused, hesitating.

"I haven't got a condom," he said. "Have you?"

"No," Arthur said, but it did nothing to deflate the tension, the humming of arousal under his skin.

"I have got some vaseline in my locker," Eames said, his tone cautious. "If you want."

Arthur swallowed. "Get it," he said.

The rattle of the lock was loud in the ensuing pause, the only other sound than the mix of their breathing. Arthur's skin prickled with cold where they'd separated, and a flush of apprehension crept over him as he watched Eames open a locker next to them, dig through the contents, toss a jar of vaseline on the bench. It was stupid, he knew, but he also couldn't stop looking at the lines of Eames' body -- his cock flushed and hard and leaking, the sharp cut of his muscles under his skin. There would probably be other opportunities, better chances when they were both more prepared, but Arthur couldn't be sure of that, and besides, they'd already got this far.

"Are you sure?" Eames asked. Arthur watched as he removed the lid from the jar and set it down beside them, and then Eames stepped in behind him again, nudging their bodies back together.

Arthur could feel it as Eames pushed the head of his cock over his hole, the soft wetness of it sliding against Arthur's skin. It felt dangerously intimate, the smooth heat of Eames' bare cock, the trickle of pre-come, and for a sharply breathless moment, Arthur couldn't decide what to do. It took little enough effort to think of all the reasons this was a bad idea, why they should wait, keep it for later, maybe just go back to jerking each other off until they were sure. But it also took little enough to imagine the deafening pressure of Eames sinking his cock into Arthur's ass, long and liquid and just a little rough around the edges. It would be so good -- Eames stretching him, fucking him, holding him still until Arthur was shaking with the tension of not moving, his muscles aching and desperate against the strength of Eames' arms. And Eames coming, bare and wet in Arthur's ass.

"Yes," Arthur said. "I want you to."

Eames' fingers were already slick when he traced them over Arthur's hole, lingering a moment before he shoved two fingers in, hard and abrupt. Arthur moaned at the sharpness of it, his thighs quivering, and he felt weak, his pulse throbbing, nerves crackling as Eames slid his fingers inside him. He hung his head, pressing his face to his forearm, and gasped as Eames moved, breathless with each languid stroke of Eames' fingers.

"Like that, do you?" Eames asked, but he didn't even wait for Arthur's answer before he pushed a third finger in. It felt thick, like too much and still not enough, and Arthur bore down, his whole body lit up for more as Eames stroked his thumb over Arthur's hole. It felt careless, teasing, and Arthur wasn't going to beg, but the rough brush of Eames' skin against his own made him ache for it.

The thrust of Eames' fingers inside him grew erratic, each push long and stretching but a little frantic, the edge of each stroke promising something else, something more, and never quite getting there. Eames mouthed at Arthur's spine as he pushed, and his breath was all damp gasps, the heat of it pouring over Arthur's skin, making him prickle with desire, making him tighten around Eames' fingers.

And then Eames pulled out, fingers gone in a sudden cold rush. Arthur watched at first as Eames fumbled with the vaseline, but he didn't dare turn to watch Eames slick himself, even as the thought of it made him shake, everything coiled tight with the anticipation of Eames' cock.

For a long moment, Eames only put his hands on Arthur's ass, palming him, spreading Arthur's cheeks with a thumb on either side of his hole. The moment was slippery and uncertain, like Eames was waiting -- but when Eames pushed in, finally, there was no hesitation -- just the long, thick drag of his cock as he put their bodies together. There was a roughness to it, an edge of hot friction to the slide of Eames' cock, and Arthur felt his skin prickle with sweat at the new tension building between them.

They were still for a long moment, and there was nothing but the short soft burst of Eames' breath on the back of Arthur's neck, the stutter of Eames' muscles where they touched. His fingers were warm and slippery on Arthur's hips, and Arthur couldn't help rocking them, just to feel the weight of Eames' cock as it moved inside him.

Eames' breath turned near ragged.

"You feel so good," he said, whispering hot.

His mouth was a lush curve of damp heat against Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur felt the scrape of Eames' teeth against his skin as he slid his cock out -- slowly, and then fucking him again, rushed and rough enough that Arthur felt everything go frantically hazy. It was all he could do to keep up -- to angle his hips back, to meet Eames' thrusts, to breathe through the breathless motion of Eames' body. He felt paralyzed with it, caught between the strength of Eames' hands on him and the hot slick pressure of Eames' cock sliding into him.

"Faster," Arthur said, gasping. All thought was gone -- of the job, of professionalism, of the fact they were in the fucking locker room: it was so good, giving up to Eames' control and the grind of his cock, the heat of his body, the heat of their skin as they slid against each other.

He just let Eames fuck him, and he couldn't stop moaning, gasping sharply with each push of Eames' cock. He felt wildly out of control, nerves burning with the shock of each thrust, but there was something in the way that Eames held him, arms bracketing Arthur's body, keeping him still while Eames fucked him in short strokes, broad and hard and unyielding.

Arthur couldn't help the way the force of it tipped him into orgasm.

But it was Eames who faltered with it, who pushed them together as Arthur tightened around his cock, and Eames who held them there, their bodies slick with sweat. It was unmistakeable when Eames came, too, the motion of his body going still, the shape of his mouth going slack against Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur felt dazed when they separated, the quiet of the locker room settling around them. They dressed quietly, and stiffly, even if he couldn't stop looking at the way Eames' muscles moved as he found his clothes, the bunching of his biceps keeping him thinking of the way Eames must have looked holding him there, or the sleekness of his thighs of the way Eames must have looked fucking him. Everything about Eames had become suggestive in a way it hadn't been, and that was dangerous in a way he hadn't anticipated.

Arthur's fourth mistake, then, was asking, "So you'll take the job?" -- and then letting him, when Eames said _yes_.


End file.
